


Scars

by Aarashi



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Friendship, Gen, Loss, Nakamaship, Post-Battle, Post-Thriller Bark, Sabaody Archipelago, Serious Injuries, Trauma, Trust, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-09 11:44:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19887118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aarashi/pseuds/Aarashi
Summary: "But there was more and Sanji knew it. Not all injuries were at sight. Some of them remained inside and no one could see them, not even Zoro. But they were there. And Sanji knew it, because Zoro was not the only one dealing with them."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place after the battle in Sabaody Archipielago, imagining that the real Kuma never appears and the Straw Hat pirates managed to escape, in three different groups. I wanted to write about what meant for Zoro and Sanji to see the Pacifistas, after what happened in Thriller Bark (and as always, English isn't my mother language so I apologize for the mistakes. Enjoy!)

After the screams, the blows and the warm of the battle, the silence weighed over his shoulders.

Sanji let out a sigh. He felt a ringing in his ears and he did not know if it was because of the impact of the beam or because of something else. He could not hear anything but that and the soft whisper of the wind when it caressed the trees around. Everything else was silence.

He supposed it was fine, then.

They had got away, but they did not know if it had been enough. They had stopped when they had found that shelter, surrounded by trees and with nobody at sight. After realizing that they would not be able to go much further, even if they tried, they had decided to stay there. The four of them were wounded, exhausted and with that pressured feeling tightening their chests. Once inside, they had felt a bit better. It was just four walls, a floor and a ceiling, but it would work for them.

Sat in a corner, Sanji unstuck his shirt from his chest, trying to ignore the pain. He was bleeding from several injuries, but he knew none of them was threatening his life. He could hear his stable breathing, his heartbeat. He wished he could hear Zoro’s, without having to put his ear against his chest and wait for the silence to come. 

Sanji looked at him. He was lying on the floor right next to him, completely immobile. They had removed his shirt, which now covered the injury from his abdomen and was dyed of red. The rest of his body had been barely washed out and covered with other pieces of clothes, which included Brook’s kerchief and Sanji’s tie. It was a poor solution, but Sanji guessed better that than watching Zoro bleed to death. The swordsman was resting on Sanji’s jacket, which also covered his shoulders; they did not know what was on that floor and the last thing they needed right now was the wounds to get infected.

Across the silence, Sanji heard the slight grunt ascending from his throat. He raised his eyes. Zoro’s eyelids separated slowly. The swordsman did not make any attempt of getting up or even moving. Sanji thought it was a miracle he had woken up.

“Where… are we?”

His voice was barely audible. Each word seemed to take a huge effort.

“Area 44. The ship is not far.”

Sanji also spoke in a low voice. He noticed how Zoro’s eyes wandered around the shelter.

“Usopp and Brook have gone to see if there’s anyone in the surroundings and if they can get some bandages and supplies,” he explained, and then added: “Don’t worry. I don’t think anybody will come, at least in the next few hours.”

Sanji did not want to admit that he was the one staying with Zoro because after him, he was the worst injured one. That damn beam had reached him right, and if it wasn’t for Brook, he might still lay there. He could barely walk. He felt bad for leaving Nami and Franky alone, but he hoped the cyborg could take care of the navigator. Luffy, Robin and Chopper should be fine, or that was what he wanted to believe.

Zoro had closed his eyes again. Sanji guessed that maintaining them opened would be hard, too.

“And… the others?”

“Don’t know. We can only hope they also escaped.”

Again, silence was the only reply he got. Sanji was grateful for Zoro not saying “You should have left me” or some bullshit like that, because if he did Sanji would kick him, he would end up breaking his leg and probably the remains of Zoro’s ribs and he was too worn out to deal with that shit right now.

Damn, he really needed to calm down.

Sanji sighed and rested his head against the wall, taking a look at the swordsman chest. At least he breathed. He also seemed quite lucid, so Sanji did not think he had a concussion. That was good, he guessed.

Zoro had taken a shaky hand to his face and was now covering it. Sanji wondered if his eyes were seeing the same as his, the same light beam and the same big figure and the same blows, over and over again, while all the screams resonated in their ears. Sanji breathed slowly.

He had realized when Zoro had been knocked down. The blow had been rough, yeah, and the swordsman had not recovered from last time’s injuries yet. But there was more and Sanji knew it. Not all injuries were at sight. Some of them remained inside and no one could see them, not even Zoro. But they were there. And Sanji knew it, because Zoro was not the only one dealing with them.

“Damn it,” Sanji muttered, standing up.

His body protested at the movement and his vision got blurry, but he ignored it. He lightened a cigarette, taking some steps from Zoro before exhaling the smoke. His right leg hurt as hell. He was fine with the pain, it meant he was still there. He needed to think in the next movement, instead of remembering what had just happened or what had happened some days ago, in the ruins of a creepy building.

 _Not now_.

He could see it, right before his eyes. The way he was standing, his arms crossed. The sound of the blood drops falling.

Damn it, there had been so much blood.

Sanji turned around, trying desperately to remove that image from his mind, and what he saw made him freeze. It was not only the injuries, the blood that covered his clothes and his skin. It was the way his body rested, the way his shoulders were sunken and his eyes remained opened only to see his own scars.

He was defeated.

Sanji felt a gust of rage and the need to kick something and he did not even know why. Was he scared? Was panic, that thing rising in his chest? Was it because they all (he wanted to think all, at least) had barely escaped from death and he had seen _again_ one of his comrades just a few breathes away from a deadly blow and _again_ he had not been able to do absolutely nothing?

“Cook,” Zoro muttered.

“What.”

“Stop throwing… that shit… to my face… It’s… already… hard enough… to breathe.”

Sanji had not realized he had approached to him again. He turned around.

“Sorry.”

He got out of the little shelter and threw the cigarette to the floor without being conscious. He stepped on it and got inside again. He let himself fall to the floor, next to the swordsman.

Zoro said nothing. Neither Sanji did. One of the few things they had in common. In those circumstances, there would not be comfort words, there would be nothing else than silence and the consciousness of being alive. It was much more than a matter of pride. They just did not need to hear it.

Because they already knew.

“Cook.” Sanji raised his gaze. Now the voice was more urgent. There was a weak cough. “Got… any… water?”

“No,” Sanji mumbled, looking at the floor. He hated giving that reply, even if it was for the swordsman. “I asked Usopp and Brook to bring some, if they can. You’d have to hold on.”

“Heh.” Zoro managed to form a teasing smile. “Have a cook… for this.”

Sanji would have kicked him if they weren’t at such critical situation and, above all, if the comment hadn’t made him forget for some glorious seconds about all the rest. Instead, he clenched his teeth and blurted out:

“I’ll make you a fucking tea when we’re back in the ship.”

“Give me… some sake… instead.”

He coughed again, then let out an exhausted sigh.

“Stop talking, asshole,” Sanji muttered. “You’re wasting energy for nothing.”

For once, Zoro listened to him and stayed silent. Sanji let his head rest against the wall again and waited.

He could not give in, not even a bit, because if he did he would fall apart and they would all be screwed. No, he had to keep his composure and think. They only had to stand three days. They could do that. Maybe they had been defeated, maybe they were not strong enough; damn, maybe they were too weak for all that and they were not prepared for what had to come, but no fucking way he was going to let any of his comrades die.

Maybe they were not strong enough, but they would survive. Sanji knew they would. They had already proved that, together, they were quite good at that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so... to be honest, this was not really planned. The thing is that when this idea came to my mind, I thought about writing about Zoro and Sanji, but principally about Zoro and somehow the previous chapter was centered in Sanji. I don't really know how it happened, but then I thought I should write a bit more about Zoro too... and here we are. Hope you enjoy!

While they waited for the others to come, there was not much to do, particularly for two injured men. Sanji was sat on the corner beside him, his injured leg stretched and the other one bent, his back against the wall. He had not lightened another cigarette yet and he seemed absent. Zoro had not moved at all since he had woken up.

It was not as he could move much, actually.

Every single part of his body ached, though it was nothing he was not used to. He felt dizzy, probably because of the blood loss. The simple fact of breathing also hurt as hell.

Zoro knew they were not safe yet. At any moment they could start hearing screams and shoots and one second after they would have a bunch of marines aiming at the shelter. Even if Sanji was only half of the beaten Zoro was, he knew they would not stand a chance. Not to talk about the big guys. The old man had taken care of the admiral, but Zoro was not sure he could defeat him so easily and even if he did… others remained.

Zoro remembered that face, the same face he had been seeing more than he would have liked to admit since then. That guy with the axe had called them Pacifistas. Maybe they were not the real Bartholomew Kuma, maybe their attacks were not the same, but at that moment that did not matter.

Once again, he was there, in front of him.

And he had been beaten.

Zoro remembered the moment he had been hit and sent to the ground. And he had stayed there. Motionless. Like a broken toy. Just breathing and hearing the background sounds of the battle while the others fought. He had wanted to get up. His body just did not want to answer, no matter how many times he sent the orders, how many times he felt the call of his swords begging for blood.

Zoro could not answer.

His wounds ached, but that was not exactly what had nearly driven him insane. It burnt. His whole body burnt in an explosion of pain, the memory of the strike he had taken in those ruins, when everybody else was on the ground. He had felt it again, the same strike, taking all the air from his lungs and leaving him empty.

_Not again_.

He had heard all of their voices, the same as in Thriller Bark: all their futile attacks, all the blows while they got knocked down, one after the other. The fear in their voices, the rage, the pain. The certainty that they were before an enemy they could not beat.

The realization that there was no way out, at least not for all of them.

And even though he had managed to stand and to finish it, it had not been enough, because then he had fallen again, and that time there had not been a standing up. He had just lied in there, under the admiral’s foot, and, in that moment, Zoro had known that he was staying there. That his body had given up with him. That, if he was saved from death, it would not be from his own strength. And that realization had sunken him even more in that ground.

That and the panic he had heard in the voices of his comrades, while they called desperately for him.

He had been injured. He was not in top form for the battle, but that was nothing new for him. It was not an excuse. The fact that watching that man again had made his guts froze was not an excuse. While they all ran away, he had realized it, once again.

He was not strong enough.

Now that he was lying in that place, without enemies at sight, he thought about the others, about how they would have seen all of that. Brook knew it, he had told Zoro he had witnessed everything in Thriller Bark. At that moment it had been reassuring, somehow, but now the swordsman could not help but ask himself how many people knew the truth. At the same time the faces of his comrades passed in front of his eyes, he realized it did not matter anymore, though his captain’s face still stung in there. Of course Luffy did not know about it. Otherwise, Zoro would have seen the pain and the guilt in his eyes. It was not a sight that he wanted to witness, not again.

The cook knew, surely. That idiot had been there until almost the end. It had been the cook who had found Zoro. And now it was the first damned face he saw after waking up of that nightmare of paws and beams. Ironic. Zoro gave him a brief look. He did not look fine, either.

He had really seemed pissed off some minutes ago, judging by the way he had been breathing and exhaling smoke. Zoro usually did not give a shit about his smoking habits, but that was when his throat and lungs were not threatening with setting on fire. By the look Sanji had given him when he had told him to stop, Zoro knew he was not the only one thinking about old injuries. The cook had also been there, after all.

Zoro thought that even though he had managed to save his life back then, with a not too gentle blow of the hint of his sword, he had not been able to save him the demons. The ones that would probably still chase him, as well as Zoro’s did. The swordsman felt a warm gust of sadness and sorrow and frustration. He was about to smile.

They were so fucking screwed up right now.

Zoro felt his throat tightening and he ordered himself to breathe, but once again, his body was not answering. He felt the eyes of the cook upon him, watching attentively.

When the air finally filled his lungs, Zoro felt like his body was going to torn apart in pieces of oxide and blood. But better that than drowning in the black waters of nightmares.

Zoro closed his eyes.

He simply had not expected to see him again.

“Next time we see them, it’ll be different.”

Zoro did not answer immediately. He could have laughed at the cook’s bravery, he could have provoked him, he could have shouted him to shut up and not interfere in his fights ever again. But he just opened his eyes and said:

“Yeah.”

Because he also hoped the same.


End file.
